


In Paths We Cross

by MarcarellaPizza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Gen, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, M/M, Only if you squint though - Freeform, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 21:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcarellaPizza/pseuds/MarcarellaPizza
Summary: “Well,” Says the man, shrugging, “Apparently ‘they’re’ moving in with him and he wasn’t entirely too happy about it.”“The invisible people.” The woman reiterates.“Yeah, another one turned up last week apparently— the invisible man’s husband.”“Oh my.”"Oh my" indeed.





	In Paths We Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Finally something more delightful today!
> 
> To be honest I was playing around witht he concept of Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve's children so I suppose it may be a spoiler for those who know the reference, however I don't completely depend on it, I borrow bits and pieces.
> 
> I also think this may be confusing so see end notes for more of an explanation after you read!
> 
> Enjoy!

Yutaka Hiroshi intrigued Yuri, which honestly shouldn’t have even been a concept in the realms of possibilities. Infatuation? Curiosity? He’d said so himself, on live television for all to bare witness; they were merely two good for nothing traits he’d stamped out of his life the moment he’d dedicated it to the world of competitive figure skating.

But his mind didn’t seem to care for the stubborn statements he’d made. The very official and very public statements that had caused such a doozy for his poor publicist and coach. Yuri liked to do whatever he wanted whenever he pleased after all, so he’d allowed himself just this one slip up in regards to the enigma of a man.

They’d met in the locker room of the ice skating rink where Yuri had been about to warm up for a session. That’s when he’d found Hiroshi, eyes scanning the vicinity as if there were a particular individual he was in need of. It’d looked suspicious back then, and perhaps hindsight now told him how foolish he’d been, but Yuri didn’t care, in that moment he’d acted. 

With a swift kick to the door, a row of lockers had toppled like dominos in a line. Yakov could yell at him later for it, the coach was always yelling anyway and he’d probably be too busy worrying about Yuri’s upcoming competition to be truly concerned with metal boxes. Unnervingly, Hiroshi hadn’t screamed, face instead stoic in expression, as if his life were so boring this were nothing. Only once the commotion had settled he’d then turned, eyes widening at the smaller Russian’s presence out of curiosity.

“You’re the new one.” Yuri realised eventually, eyes narrowing judgmentally. He has no patience for zombie-like idiots. He did not become the three times consecutive, gold medal Figure Skating Grand Prix finalist with such traits. 

“Y-yes.” Hiroshi had nodded, heavy, purple bags resting beneath his eyes and hair tousled in a mess. A train wreck survivor would have looked better, but he brushed his fatigue off like nothing, clearing his throat and faced Yuri head on. “Sorry, um… and you are?”

Yuri scoffed, like this skater _didn’t _know who he was. “Yuri Plisetsky. Ice Tiger of Russia.” He said, waiting for the expected cry of surprise. He’d been used to overzealous fan girls by now, having spent years dealing with them and only hoped that this new rink mate of his were a little more composed.

However the flash of recognition was not for the reasons Yuri had been expecting, baffling him as he searched within Hiroshi’s eyes. “Really?” He’d asked, as if the telling of his name were a new trivial fact, “My name is— ah, Hiroshi! Hiroshi Yutaka! Just… thought you’d like to know...” 

But Yuri wasn’t stupid, despite what some may believe, he could pinpoint the slip up and the unnatural flow of the stunted words far easier than teaching three year olds what a flying sit spin was. “What?” He had chosen to ask, eyebrow raised to signify the question.

Hiroshi smiled brightly, blinding the piercing gaze facing him. “Sorry,” He apologised hastily, “I was overwhelmed by your presence and fumbled.”

Yuri stared at him undecidedly. “Sure, whatever.” He shrugged, “Just don’t expect me to give you any stupid autographs.”

“All right then Yuri Plisetsky, wouldn’t dream of it.” Hiroshi laughed good naturedly. He had nodded then, a hand out in offering to be shaken as the smaller teen hesitated before meeting him halfway.

But that hadn’t been the only thing that had the new skater on Yuri’s mind. No, the man was a walking wonder. “You use a brick to call people.” Yuri deadpanned one day, watching said man pull out the equivalent to an old walkie talkie from his sport’s bag. 

Turns out that’s exactly what it was.

“It’s just what I’m used to.” Hiroshi would respond with, fidgeting nervously, “I’m kinda retro I guess?”

“Kinda retro” was in fact, an understatement.

Yuri has been inside the other’s house a number of times, five to be exact, and every time he enters, there’s always _something_ there that muddles up the story that is Hiroshi.

A gramophone sits in the corner of the main room, which features a small singular couch, moth eaten and something like what Yuri’s grandfather probably owns. There’s no TV in colour, it’s black and white and incredibly bulky, barely playing anything but the static screen; and despite this, the latest PlayStation sits neatly, like it’s always in use.

The walls are _covered_ in stories that a television would otherwise only dream of showing, leading to images and newspapers of dated and aged time.

He’d asked Hiroshi who each person was, some pictures predating to what Yuri had suspected was the day cameras had been invented — it was rather interesting to see such a scale of time, almost as if Hiroshi had lived every decade that had presence in his home.

“Ah, this is grandfather and his… sister I think? I forget now it’s been a long while.” Hiroshi explains, a finger pointing to a couple of happy people, stoic faces for their picture. The browning of the single toned image proves the ‘long while’ that Hiroshi had claimed.

“This looks way older than your grandfather’s time.” Yuri notes, turning to Hiroshi. The man merely shrugs, moving towards the next.

Then they’d continued down the hallway, passing the old workbench with the typewriter resting precariously against it. Besides that was an old computer, one of which the model was unknown and a thin slip was left in the bottom. Floppy disks were the only plausible guess.

To the right of these things was a laptop, black and white with browning creases where the keyboard met with the screen. A digital camera, one probably from when Yuri himself was born, rests beside it.

On the opposite side of the room however, rested another workbench that had what appeared to be the most valued and aged item in the entire house.

Yuri had eyed the large sheet of tapestry-like-paper on the first day he’d visited, and his vision had become tunnel-like ever since. Perhaps the most curious thing of all, it was folded in on itself, left to become Yuri’s secret obsession instantaneously. Because no matter how much he’d ask, bribe or scream (he’d never beg), Hiroshi refused to ever show him.

“It’s just my family tree.” He’d said off nonchalantly, snatching at an album from his bookshelf. “Let’s look through these instead hmm?”

Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t an idiot, there's a secret behind the mysterious material and he wants to find out, what, but for now, until he could gain access to it, he’d let it go for the time being.

Although his lack of permission, it hadn’t deterred the time he’d spend trying to hypothesise what could be written on the weird cloth paper, going even as far as to say his rink mate was a secret intelligence agent.

When he’d explained his theory Hiroshi would laugh and compliment his creativity, and Yuri would pout as he looks at whatever the other had wanted to show him next, and the photo albums would replace his interest immediately.

Old. They were very old photos that almost suggested it couldn’t possibly have been him. Old photos revealing Hiroshi’s childhood. The guy had said he was young, for some reason refusing to give a precise number and merely an estimated 18 to 35 year range. It was so strange to see such reluctance for something so trivial, but regardless, Yuri knew that none of those years in correspondence had pictures like _that_.

The only logical explanation could be as Hiroshi had said; his parents had been retro too, but somehow, as he stared at pictures of Hiroshi’s _son_, Yuri couldn’t find himself to believe it.

* * *

Yuri’s neighbour was annoying, and he so desperately wished the guy would jump off of his balcony and break his neck. Hiroshi has scolded him for ill wishes, claiming that talking was a better idea, but Yuri knows this guy better than his rink mate does and instead continues to send heartfelt death threats to his door.

“Yuri! How was skating today?” Viktor asks, beaming as they pass each other in the elevator. Yuri scoffs and rolls his eyes, another woman staring at him questioningly as she heads in the opposite direction. If he were her, she’d be looking at them weirdly too. What kind of guy has silver hair in his late 20s?

“Fuck off old man.” Yuri grits his teeth, pushing past him. Viktor’s body is cold, but it hardly phases the teen; Viktor was always complaining about how cold he was.

“No thanks Yurio!” Viktor smiles softly. Yuri can only glare at him as the elevator doors slide shut. He doesn’t like the nickname, no matter how confusing for Viktor it may have been. His husband’s namesake be damned.

To be fair, Yuri had never met the ’_oh so wonderful’_ Yuuri Katsuki — sorry, _Katsuki Yuuri_, that Viktor would often go on about, so he was 100% convinced that the man was made up.

“Stop calling me that asshole.” Yuri grits his teeth some more, jamming the button for his floor. Viktor laughs lightly before stepping back, eyeing the irritated boy. “What?!”

“Nothing.” Viktor says, albeit fondly. “You just remind me of my Yuuri.” The words are said rather softly, uncharacteristically so for someone as eccentric as Viktor.

Yuri takes a chance to question the sudden shift in mood. “You see him every day don’t you? Stop whining.” Viktor’s smile becomes restraint.

“I actually don’t.” Comes the quick reply. There’s a sense in Yuri’s chest, screaming at him for fucking up. It’s almost foreign, but just decipherable. Yuri knows he’s hit a nerve and now feels like a crappy human being — so much for being at least decent.

“Oh.” He says, because he doesn’t really know what else there is to say. It’s not as if there’s a _How to Regret Your Mistakes for Dummies _guide unfortunately.

Fuck.

“Uh… shit, man… I didn’t—“

“Know. Yeah. That’s alright.” The small smile is now back on Viktor’s face. Yuri isn’t sure how he’d only just learnt this information after being neighbours with Viktor for two years. 

Feels kinda shitty to be honest.

“Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me.” Viktor lightly jokes, nudging Yuri’s side. “It won’t be long now… I hope”

Something about the way Viktor says it sounds rather cryptic, and privately, Yuri wonders had happened.

“I wasn’t worried.” Yuri defends, only realising a little too late how harsh his words sound. _Stupid, _he’d chastised himself. _You’re an idiot_.

“I suppose I can only hope that Yuuri is still patient...” Viktor’s voice is constrained. “We argued… I do regret that because we still love each other a lot... I suppose I can only hope we put it past us when we meet up again.” Yuri still doesn’t know what to say, Viktor’s relationship is far too much of a mystery for him to truly understand and so he remains silent as Viktor wistfully smiles. “It’ll be okay, I can feel it.”

The elevator pings and the door opens, finally reaching Yuri’s floor to which Viktor seems to recognise this and immediately moves to let the boy through.

“SEE YOU TOMORROW YURIO! GOOD NIGHT, SLEEP TIGHT, DON’T LET THE BED BUGS BITE!” Viktor suddenly screams, tearing a hole through the sorrowful mood in a matter of seconds.

Yuri’s face transforms immediately into anger, the nickname swimming around his head in tantalisation and expletives at his throat as he chases after the closing elevator again.

The doors shut before he even reaches him.

* * *

The ice feels so much more comfortable than usual, and that’s the first sign that Yuri is absolutely exhausted.

Groaning as his nose numbs to the cold, he allows Hiroshi to help him up, dusting his pants off from non-existent dust as he guides him towards the rink’s edge. 

It’d been three hours since their allocated training times had finished and Yuri was deadbeat. He was thankful for the fact that Hiroshi still doted on him like a lost parent despite his hostile attitude on a typical day.

“Come on, you can stay the night at mine, it’s closer than your place anyway.” Hiroshi offers, helping Yuri remove his skates. Yuri nods and doesn’t protest, the second sign that he’s too tired.

He’s rather fatigued, as evident by the slow blink of his eyes, and he’s being trusted by a person he’s slowly beginning to consider a friend. Yet it’s the sixth time that Yuri enters Hiroshi’s humble abode, and he’s determined to uncover the mystery of the tapestry which had been left the exact same way as the first time he’d seen it.

Damn him and his curiosity if there’s an open opportunity.

The shower turns on and he hears Hiroshi slide the curtain closed, signalling that it was either now or never. 

With new found adrenaline, the rush pushes Yuri to venture out of the guest room, down the corridor, past the old pictures and into the study room.

The tapestry sits untouched. 

He knows he doesn’t have long, so he pulls out his phone, flicks the camera on and runs. He’s gentle of course, heart racing in his chest and pounding in his throat as he snaps pictures, not seeing or reading, just ensuring he has covered every inch.

The tapestry is rather big, twice his size in comparison, but he finds thankfully, that there’s enough time left to re-place the position of the paper, sneak out of the room and close the door before none could be the wiser.

He flops onto the bed in the guestroom, a little guilty and a little excited as he calms his racing heart.

Hiroshi knocks and enters to let him know that the bathroom is free, but Yuri is already deep asleep, picture secured in the photo albums of his phone.

Ironically, the pictures on Yuri’s phone remain untouched for just over two months before he decides he has the courage to go through them.

He chalks it up to the overall feeling of betrayal. He’s ruined the trust of someone he genuinely considers _not_ boring, which in itself is rare enough.

It’s the offhanded comment about Hiroshi’s son one day during practice — apparently Yuri had reminded Hiroshi of him — that had sealed the deal. He was going to uncover the truth — or whatever it was that had been so secretive.

Yuri didn’t bother waiting for Hiroshi that day, screaming at him to go home on his own because he had “more important things than hanging out with losers” to do that day. Hiroshi merely chuckled from where he stood on the ice, waving and unknowing as to what was yet to come.

Yuri’s only thankful that there is no Viktor today to bother him as the elevator inches its way down to the ground level.

“YURI!” Viktor beams. Has Yuri ever mentioned how much he hates Viktor and his perfect timing?

“Viktor.” Yuri nods, ignoring him. His phone feels heavy in his hand, like a heavy reminder or what he had left to do, and so small talk is kept minimal as he waits for the agonising climb up the building.

It’s strange, but Yuri only realises that Viktor had actually _left him alone _when he’s jamming his keys into his front door.

Either that, or he was incredibly distracted.

* * *

He sighs heavily as he begins to head home.

Home.

It’s such a foreign word.

In all his time alive, the definition of home had changed over a hundred times. Home would be his family, then his small cottage, a town house when he’d afford it, a barn when he’d lost everything, a person when he’d found the one, a new family when they’d made it, a newer house after getting back on track.

And then a hospital was the trade for the home he’d found in his love. A dreary, white hospital. And then the cemetery. He’d stayed there for a long time. Eventually, home would become a newer house with his growing family. He’d moved on, find others, a new house, a new country, his old hometown, and finally St Petersburg.

There has been hundreds of places to call home — he’s certain he’ll have a hundred more to look forward too.

As he stares at the ground, he watches as his feet automatically move. It’s the repeated cycle of step after step, movement after movement — like a zombie, slowly inching their way across the ground.

There’s an amused snort at the image. A zombie? He certainly feels like one, tired and well past his expiration date. The borrowed time does nothing to rejuvenate him, and so he continues on his way home — his new home, precisely home number 134 and counting.

* * *

Yuri’s eyes are bulging as he zooms in on the images of his phone. The tapestry is a work of art, with images and names neatly printed in the fanciest calligraphy. But this is not what has startled him.

He reads _his name_ at the bottom of the spread. Yuri Plisetsky, the child of two parents who of which his _father_ is somehow connected into this mess. He sees his grandfather’s name, he sees great-grandmothers and fathers, and he keeps reading names he can _recognise_ until they’re no longer people he’s heard of. 

Yuri’s breathing goes ragged, caught in his throat as his eyes skim the images. There’s no mistaking what he sees, this is _his_ family tree. _Not_ Hiroshi’s. 

Yuri panics; why does Hiroshi have _his _family tree?!

There’s only a few more names left, of people he no longer recognises as completely Russian. There’s a mentioning of a “Yuuko Nikiforov-Katsuki” and besides the name is another; “Christophe Nikiforov-Katsuki”, two children with lines drawing out to their godparents who are namesakes of the other.

Yuri’s breathing hitches as he reaches the top of the family tree, the two people who started the whole list; some long gone ancestors of Yuri’s who he isn’t quite sure are actually his ancestors.

_Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov_.

His phone is dropped, screen smashing on the floor as he hastily curses his clumsy state. The phone is still on, names still decipherable, but there’s no way that there’s a mistake because he _knows_ exactly who they are.

A strange coincidence perhaps? Viktor was a pretty common name, so was Yuuri, and as was Nikiforov — he thinks. Jumping to the conclusion that his _neighbour _was a great-great-great-great-great-great-something grandparent was just too absurd. 

And then how did Hiroshi have his family tree?! Hadn’t the skater claimed that it was _his_?! There had not been a single mention of a “Hiroshi” anywhere.

Yuri turns off the broken phone with a sigh, eyes squeezing shut as more questions pile onto his brain. _Was Hiroshi actually a secret agent then? Sent to spy on… him?_

But his mind recalls a distant echo of a voice, his own, he realises, correcting his brain as it had before. _It’s Katsuki Yuuri, not Yuuri Katsuki_ it supplies, and from that his eyes trail to the second name.

Viktor. Start with Viktor and work down. It was after all, his only lead, and no matter how strange of a coincidence his name may be, perhaps the overly eccentric man could help sort this all out. The only problem was how to bring it up.

How was he supposed to even find Viktor? They may share the same apartment complex but he doesn’t know the man’s unit number.

Thankfully, it seems as though fate is willing to help him out.

Yuri doesn't expect to see Viktor at the local bakery, but he’s there, early morning and bright eyed. It’s the perfect opportunity to talk to him, but Yuri himself isn’t so sure about what he should say.

“Good morning Yuri!” Viktor greets him, subtly as he eyes the display case. It’s almost like he’s yearning for the treats within, and then Yuri realises that Viktor hasn’t bought anything, let alone remembered his wallet to utilize.

“Old man, hi.” Yuri grumbles, eyes rolling. It’s not his problem that Viktor’s fallen into the spell of window shopping, he just wants to get his food, grab the man’s apartment number and _talk._ The talking part is still underworks.

Before he can even get a word in about needing to speak however, a small “Excuse me?” comes from the counter where the cashier stands. It’s an elderly lady who occasionally assists her family’s business, frail and aged. “Did you just call me an ‘Old Man’?” she splutters.

“Shit no! I was talking to him.” Yuri turns to Viktor, glaring at him in response. Was this woman really so dense?

“Him.” She states, disbelieving, “Right.”

“The fuck?” Yuri mumbles, pausing, “Whatever, I wasn’t talking to you, can I just have that one at the front, thanks.” He pauses to point at a chocolate looking thing and watches as the woman huffs, slightly offended as she shakes her head, slowly moving to retrieve the pastry. 

The jingle of her many jewelled bracelets fills the empty silence.

“Her earrings are too flashy for such a casual outfit.” Viktor comments, much to Yuri’s horror. He doesn’t want to get beat up by an old lady, he really doesn’t want to have to explain to Yakov why he’d punched his neighbour either.

“Shut up Viktor.” He mutters, a warning laced into his words, thankful that the lady hadn’t somehow heard. He assumes it’s hard of hearing, that’s why she’d mistaken him earlier, and he doesn’t question it.

“No seriously, I reckon diamonds that big are a bit of a boast, don’t you? I never did get why old ladies tried to look nice, they don’t really need—“

“Viktor.” Yuri repeats, voice creeping in volume. He knows he can’t pay for his food and leave normally if there are idiotic neighbours insulting old ladies.

“Did you say something?” the woman asks, cocking her head to the side in confusion. Yuri relents the urgency in his actions as he offers her his best smile. It’s plastered, and fake, the kind of smile he gives to the press and so very close to becoming a frown.

“I said nothing.” Yuri corrects, shooting the silver haired man beside him a look. There’s an odd silence as another customer enters the doorway, bell jingling in signification.

“Oh, Yuri… hi.” Hiroshi says surprised, a fond smile on his face as he steps up to the counter. He sneaks a side glance at Viktor before frowning and shaking his head subtly, stepping to the front to order.

“Hiroshi, why are you here?” Yuri begins, eyeing the man as he wrings his hands together nervously, hoping that he doesn’t mention anything about the tapestry.

“Mmmm, was hungry — this bakery was a favourite of my family’s, they’d recommended it when they’d stayed here once.” He explains, turning to speak with the lady at the front.

Yuri is handed his food with a cold smile, and he doesn’t blame her as he steps back. He senses Viktor’s presence behind him, stiffening. There’s an odd look on Viktor’s face, almost beet red and inflamed.

“Oi Hiroshi, this is —“

Viktor snaps his head to face him, a hand clapped over his mouth. He’s shaking his head ‘no’ frantically, telling him to be quiet, and Yuri wants to yell and ask him what his problem is. Before he can do so, his rink mate is turning to stare and Viktor steps back, dashing out of the open doorway.

“What?” Hiroshi asks, his eyes glance around the room, noting something amiss. “Oh, where’s your friend? He disappeared? I didn’t get a chance to see him properly but I thought he was just here…” The elderly lady snorts behind them, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, he said he had to go.” Yuri says quickly, biting his lip in anticipation. He sighs and rubs his face tiredly as he tries to spot Viktor outside. “I have to go, I’ll see you later…”

Hiroshi waves, face mirroring the confusion of the woman behind the counter as Yuri dashes outside of the store. He wonders where Viktor could possibly have gone but there’s no answer for his questions, just as there’s none for the tapestry’s mystery.

He’s suddenly pulled from his thoughts when his phone buzzes with an unknown number, and somehow it’s the eccentric, silver haired man. _“Apartment 503”_ It reads, and Yuri tries to guess how he’d gotten his number.

Whatever, he’s a step closer to figuring this all out.

* * *

“VIKTOR!” Yuri screams, a fist smacking against hardwood. He had the decency to wait until at least 8 am before rousing the other neighbours, but his patience had long dwindled since. “VIKTOR OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

The apartment door opposite the hallway cracks open, held only by the chain on the latch. “It’s too early to be screaming.” The man admonishes him, “Besides, you’re wasting your time, the guy who lives there is barely around. Personally I don’t even know if anyone even _lives_ there.”

Yuri stares at him like he’s lost his mind, angry with the waste of breath that this man is using. “I speak to this idiot every day, you’re just lucky you don’t have to deal with his stupid face.” He turns around and kicks at the door, ignoring the wince the neighbour releases. “VIKTOR YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

“Right. Good luck with that.” The man sighs, warily eyeing the angry teen. “You’re the one who’s always yelling in the hallway and up the elevator, aren't you?” Yuri pauses, eyes squinting in the other’s direction.

“Fuck off.” he decides, and with that, the neighbour obliges.

“Later.”

“Idiot.”

“Well I for one think that he lost the right to complain about your noise the second he started spreading gossip about your loud voice in the elevator.” Viktor’s voice rings out, causing Yuri to jump in surprise.

“Viktor!’ He yelps, eyes wide, “You scared the—”

“Shh, not here.” The silver haired man cuts in, cold and clammy hand covering the boy’s mouth. He does a once over of the hallways, as if checking to make sure that no one had been watching, before hastily opening the door and tugging Yuri through. “People think no one lives here and that I’m a ghost.” He explains eventually, glee written on his face.

“Of course they do.” Yuri rolls his eyes, “Whatever, I don’t give a shit about your weirdness anyway. What gives dude? I had to speak to you and you fucking bailed at the bakery!”

For a second, Yuri believes he sees the equivalent of fear creeping into Viktor’s immaculate smile, but just as quickly as he’d recognised it, it was gone. “Ah yes, I was busy.” He says, a wave of his hand, “I had to hurry and—”

“You didn’t want to meet Hiroshi.” Yuri spits out, cutting off Viktor immediately. “Why?”

There’s a terse silence between them as Viktor sighs, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to collect his thoughts. “That man was my husband—’s friend.” he says weakly, but if it’s due to the sensitivity of the topic or it being a lie, Yuri can’t make heads or tails out of it.

“Right.” He says, nodding slowly, “Okay then… I want to ask something though… about your… husband Yuuri.”

“Oh?” Viktor cocks his head to the side, face unreadable as he stares, “It depends… but I’ll try my best?”

“Did you ever have kids?” Yuri blurts out, eyes widening as he slaps his hands over his mouth. _He wasn’t supposed to start like that! Now Viktor’s gonna get suspicious and—_

“Why?” Viktor starts, suspicious as Yuri had feared, but also with a teasing smile pulling at his lips. Much to the younger’s relief, he doesn’t appear phased in the slightest. “You’ve been thinking about children yourself? Yuri, you’re still just a tiny baby boy—”

“Yes.” Yuri breathes, face heating up in embarrassment. It’s a free ticket, he’ll take it, even if the seat isn’t in the most desirable location. “I was curious about children because… I like a guy and… um… well… obviously a baby needs a girl.”

“Right.” Viktor nods seriously. “Well Yes, my Yuuri and I had 2. Yuuri’s sister donated her eggs and we used my baby juice and then boom! Baby Yuuko and Chris Nikiforov-Katsuki were born!”

“Chris and… Yuuko?” Yuri mutters under his breath. His brain distinctively recalls the familiar names from the tapestry.

“I think Yuuri’s mom looked after them after… stuff though.” he chooses his words carefully. “It was very hard on everyone I think.”

Yuri is no longer paying attention to anything else that his neighbour is saying as his mind swims as his heart races. He then stands up, abrupt and dizzy as he tries to regain his balance and Viktor hurries to his side, concern evident upon his face. “I… I think I need to go, um… on… this Monday... apartment 806… talk. We need to talk about something.”

“Yuri? Are you okay?” Viktor tries, but Yuri is too busy pushing him away.

“Yes.” He breathes, nodding, “I’m fine. Come to my place Monday. Afternoon… I need to talk but not now.”

“Um, o-okay. Hang on… wait, wait!”

But Yuri doesn’t falter, he makes a mad dash for the front door, hurrying to the elevator in his wake. He doesn’t notice the nosey neighbours who’d taken to a peek at the commotion beyond their doors and he doesn’t hear their whispers.

“It’s the odd child.” The man from before whispers to the other doors open ajar, “The one who talks to himself in the elevator.”

“Do you think he’s alright?” A lady asks, the same one who’d passed Yuri the other week, “Do you think he needs help?”

“Maybe.” Says another, a younger woman from the left, “Or perhaps someone really does live in that apartment and we’re all going crazy.”

* * *

  
“Coffee for Hiroshi?” The barista calls tiredly. Beside him is another customer bouncing on the balls of his feet cheerily, far too cheerily for a Monday morning and far too energetic for a notoriously slow day. Why anyone would be_ excited_ at a coffee shop this early is beyond Hiroshi, who silently decides that the other is most definitely not human. The barista ignores their chipper attitude to turn around to enter the backroom.

Hiroshi grumbles softly as he reaches for the cup, hand skittering as he nods, eyes downcast. “Thanks.” He whispers to no one in particular, leaning to tear the cup away. A little hasty, but he couldn’t afford to care.

His body turns before the rest of him, and he quickly stumbles around the counter to make way to the door. “Wait!” Calls a voice, someone who he thinks may be the barista before it registers in his mind that it’s the customer. The shout is decidedly ignored — Hiroshi has more pressing matters to attend to.

“‘Scuse me.” He mutters, passing the lonesome tables and chairs. He says this a few more times as he walks into them clumsily, muttering a couple “sorry”s and “thanks” as he goes. 

The coffee cup is held tightly between his fingers, the paper crumpling as his hand trembles. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, too much energy, not enough _progress_ and a shit ton of anxiety, that’s what this was.

“It’s 7 am, you should go home and get some rest.” The customer calls haplessly, “You look very tired my dear.”

Hiroshi’s hand stills on the small cafe door knob, fingertips paling as he squeezes the metal tightly. He doesn’t turn around as he processes the stranger’s words, a frown tugging at his sluggish face as he does this. “Sorry?” He calls, as if he’d misheard, “You must have mistaken me for someone else… “

The customer audibly shifts, laughing in what seems to be delight, dare he say _excitement_. “Right, right…” They move to say, “Sorry, you remind me of _ah… someone?_”

“Oo-oh…” Hiroshi breathes, confused and slightly alarmed, the atmospheric shift not going unnoticed. He clears his throat and moves to slowly turn the door, scared that any sudden movements may be detrimental. “I’m really sorry about the confusion then.”

“No need.” Comes the nonchalant reply, “I can’t tell if you’re still alive or something other… What happened to you?” There’s underlying genuine curiosity, mixed with childlike giddiness and contradicted by the confused wrinkle of their brow. 

Hiroshi’s heart races within his chest. “Excuse me?” He splutters bewilderedly, releasing the door handle without as much as a second thought. He looks up, eyes wide and panicked as he stares at the strange man before him, attentive and discomforting, yet somehow intriguing.

His field of vision suddenly swims as bright speckles of neon green light cloud his sight, confusing and disorientating him as he stumbles aside. He’s no longer concerned with whatever the man is saying or the coffee cup that had slipped from his grasp, splattering towards the ground.

Hiroshi can only hope that the barista returns to help him with his situation, but he’s not entirely sure what he’d even say.

When he moves his mouth to yell in disbelief, his vocal chords die in his throat, leaving the other man to watch, hesitant to reach out and speak. He doesn’t appear so chipper anymore, instead, the sense of dread looms above him like a dark shadow. When the man remains still, silent as he observes Hiroshi, he suddenly regains momentum in his legs and bolts. 

“Wait!” The man calls again, paired with a pleading whimper, but Hiroshi doesn’t dare halt his movements as he races out of the shop, determined to make it home safely.

The grass is slippery from previous use of garden sprinklers but it barely deters him as he slides across the ground towards the open footpath. There, his footprints are embedded into the stone with the stains of water, edges splattering with the sudden impact his shoes make. The pitter-patter of rushed footsteps echo against the pavement and the skater feels his heart pounding as he gets away.

His running eventually slows to a moderate jog when he’s sure that the customer hadn’t followed, clothes sticking and grabbing at him due to being unsuited towards the vigorous activity he’d. His chest heaves as his heart pounds, and he clenches a pale hand to his wrinkled shirt as he squeezes his eyes shut, desperate to calm down and desperate to shake the striking terror that had run through his veins.

“What was that Hiroshi?” Said man mumbles aloud, eyes darting occasionally to check for any pedestrians. There are none, he’s alone on this deserted neighbourhood and he sighs heavily, managing to regain control of his pace and slow to a power walk.

He doesn’t get to ponder his thoughts any further either, as the familiarity of his friend’s apartment’s building comes into view. Well. It wasn’t what he’d planned to do, but anything was better than staying outside while so terribly unfocused. He awkwardly steps up to the front and curses himself, embarrassingly raising a finger to buzz Yuri’s number and hope that someone were home. 

“_Da?_” A familiar voice echoes, waiting impatiently for Hiroshi’s admittance to incompetency, the audio receiver picks up on faint breathing.

“I— I left… something… I-I can’t, I don’t know what to do… could you let me in?” He pleads desperately, a hand bracing himself against the brick wall.

“Hiroshi? What the fuck are you? Okay… Jesus, don’t get your panties in a twist. The door’s unlocked. What’s going on?” Yuri asks, voice sounding agitated as the intercom buzzes, signifying it was free to be opened.

“Thanks— Y-Yuri?!” Hiroshi snaps his head towards the speaker, frozen as his ears ring.

“What? Hurry up and get the fuck in! I’m not gonna hold this stupid button forever!”

“I-I’m coming… open the door when I reach the apartment.” He rushes out, hastily fiddling with the building door in order to enter. His feet take him towards the stairs, and begin pumping forward as he climbs, eyes wide and mind delusional as he climbs for the next few floors.

By the time he arrives at the front door, he’s wheezing and shaking miraculously as the teen side steps and rushes to help him to his feet. “Jesus fucking Christ what’s wrong with you? Did you run up the stairs?! What about the fucking elevator?!”

Yuri is unsure as to what he should do, stunned as the man heaves himself into the apartment. “Hey! What’s up with you?! You look like you’ve seen a ghost—“

His head snaps up at him, pale and weak as his mouth moves wordlessly, not a syllable being uttered aloud.

“Holy shit… okay what’s going on?” Yuri says, smaller body attempting to help the trembling man to his feet. The front door is closed with a small kick to the side, and they’re soon shielded from the outside world.

“I-I don’t know!” He whispers, frantically dropping to the small sofa, “I-I have n-no fucking clue!”

“Okay… what happened then… what made you feel like you have no clue?” Yuri tries, biting his lip. He feels hapless as he stares at his frantic rink mate.

“Y-you wouldn’t believe… y-you’d think I’m... I… I’m crazy.” Hiroshi wheezes, hands clawing at his hair in desperation. The image could only rival that of an ill soul, blinded by a condition within his brain.

“Try me.” Yuri decides to challenge, arms folded as he sits beside the estranged man. There’s a second of silence as Hiroshi stares at him, considering the offer before sighing.

“I-I saw _him_.” He breathes, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “I- I saw him… I thought, I thought it wasn’t r-real… b-ut w-hy?”

“Saw... who?” Yuri questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“My husband…” Hiroshi gasps for air, head turning to capture Yuri’s gaze prisoner, “My husband who is _dead_.”

Yuri stays still for what feels like hours, mouth open agape as he processes the claims of his rink mate. That was _not_ what he had expected at all, how was he supposed to deal with some messed up shit like this?!

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” he eventually begins, a hand grounding the other on his shoulder, “But have you been drinking? Or have you forgotten to… to take some medication? You mentioned anxiety once… are… are hallucinations a side effect or—“

“I don’t know!” Hiroshi wails, streamlines of tears cascading like waterfalls. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay then…” Yuri nods, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’ll go make a call to Yakov saying you won’t be in tomorrow… go see a doctor, psychologist — someone… and Uh, shit… my neighbour may knock on the door, he was supposed to come over so… if he does… lemme know and I’ll deal with him.”

Hiroshi nods, nose sniffling, “I can answer… I’m not… I’m not incompetent.” He says towards his lap.

“Are you sure?” Yuri double checks, concern written messily across his face, “I can do it… just… yeah, tell me.”

Hiroshi nods and says nothing more, eyes glued to the teen as he wanders into his bedroom. “Hi Yakov?” His voice fades away, “Yeah okay so listen…”

It’s not even ten minutes later when the door knocks, and Yuri is still unfortunately on the phone with their coach.

Hiroshi sighs, standing from the sofa as he rubs at his eyes tiredly, trudging his way to the front door as the knocks repeat themselves in tandem. “I-I’m coming.” He coughs, clearing his throat, fingers nimble and numb as they fiddle with the lock mechanisms.

As the knob is twisted and the opening is cleared, Hiroshi glances nervously towards Yuri’s neighbour, fingers freezing, body chilling and head dizzying. He tries to scream but no sound can escape.

“Yuuri?!” The neighbour questions, shock and wonder written across his face, but said man is too busy squirming on the floor in a hasty attempt to get away.

“Y-you’re dead!” He chokes out, eyes locking with eyes. But somehow he’s here, he’s standing, he’s tall and youthful, and Viktor’s pale skin and blue eyes are just as alive as the day Katsuki Yuuri watched him die.

* * *

There are two voices in the living room, shouting and yelling and crying, but only one person whose standing present, mouth unmoving and eyes wide. That person is Yuri Plisetsky. “What the actual fuck.” He states, voice timid as he looks around the room. “Hiroshi? Did Viktor just arrive? That lousy asshole—“

“Yuri?” He hears but he does not see. Yuri freezes on the spot as he looks around some more.

“Either I’m drugged and hallucinating, having a fucked up dream or you’re both invisible.” He says, teetering on the verge of concern.

“You can’t see me anymore?” Viktor’s voice echoes, like a breath in the wind. “Or Yuuri?”

“Anymore?” Yuri gapes, “Yuri? You mean… Yuuri your husband? What the fuck is going on… this dream is absolute shit!” There’s a silence as he tries to feel for the air, like it’s able to tell him _something_ about where he actually is and what is happening. He moves his arms around him slwoly, baby step after baby step, but he doesn’t get very far before his body is overcome with such incredibly frigid temperatures and he’s left spluttering in desperation. “W-what-t-t-t?!” His teeth chatter and clack, eyes widening as his fingers turn numb.

It’s like a winter snow storm had suddenly taken refuge within his home, and his lithe body is left to freeze as he crumples to the ground. “Shit.” He thinks he hears from the left of him, but his mind is too hazy to make heads or tails of it all. “I accidentally touched him! Yuri, don’t sleep, stay awake!” He swears he hears.

He promises himself to close his eyes for a _second, _because he’s just _so cold_ and _so suddenly tired_ but apparently a second is all it takes for someone to reach out and grab at his shoulders, shaking them harshly until he sits upright and _falls_.

“What are you doing here?!” Yakov’s voice screams, and Yuri’s eyes widen in his dazed state of mind as he finds himself on the ground of the _ice rink_. ”Why were you sleeping on the bench?! Go and hurry up, complete your warm up!”

His brain rushes to find a logical solution to the predicament he’s in as he shakily rises from the floor, skates already strapped to his feet. The giant clock on the rink wall reads 2:30 pm. “I-is Hiroshi here yet? I need to speak with the idiot.” His voice wavers but it goes unmentioned, Yakov too busy staring at Yuri incredulously, like he has a loose screw. Who knows? Perhaps he actually does.

“Who’s Hiroshi?” Yakov begins, arms folded in an unamused stance as his face pulls into a frown, “Did you hit your head boy?” Yuri shakes his head. “We have to prepare for Cup of China in two weeks and I swear to god if you—“

“Don’t worry! F-Forget it!” Yuri shrieks, eyes rolling as he turns away from his coach’s watchful gaze. “I was fucking with you…I’m going on the ice.”

He ignores the angry berating that he receives from the older Russian, and breathes a sigh of relief as he controls his pounding heart. _It’s a cliché. _He’d been dreaming. A very vivid, very realistic dream and thankfully, nothing more.

Yuri flaps his arms to be rid of the trembling shakes that course through his nerves, swallowing the cold air as he readies himself. _Just to be sure_ He tells himself, before he throws his body into a single toe loop and twists his torso as harshly as possible. The bruise that blossoms on his hip as he collides with the ice is a warming welcome, bringing tears of relief to his eyes.

_A stupid fucking dream._

“Are you an _idiot_?!” Yakov’s voice screeches from the sidelines, bursting the small moment of happiness, “Are you _trying_ to end your career?!”

“I’m not dreaming!” Yuri calls back, pulling himself up to begin skating laps around the rink absentmindedly.

“I already have to deal with _one_ overgrown man-child as is!” He overhears, but by now the shouting drifts into white noise. “Viktor is going to be bringing that Japanese skater with him in _two days_ and I am _not_ having you turn into a carbon copy of his idiotic—“

The skates skid on the ice, sending shavings flying as Yuri stumbles to a stop, touching down on the ice to regain his balance as he shoots Yakov a doe eyed look. “Viktor is coming _here_ with a Japanese Skater? You mean Yuuri? Katsuki Yuuri?”

“Of course he is! That idiot has only been infatuated with Katsuki this entire season! Are you serious?!”

Yuri doesn’t move, he merely stares blankly at his coach on the other side of the rink as his hands fumble around his zipper pockets in order to retrieve his phone. There is no photo of a tapestry, there is no contact name under “Hiroshi”. Instead there’s one labelled “Old Man” and another “Katsudon”. He feels his heart thump in his chest as his fingers scroll through text messages he can’t recall.

“I’m not… I’m not feeling well.” He suddenly says, voice weak as his knees give in. The rink echoes a heavy thud as his vision splatters with multicolours and psychedelic oddities, and then he’s out like a light on the ice.

* * *

He startles awake for the second time in the comfort of his own apartment, phone by his bedside table and a note from Yakov explaining that he’d be exempted from training for the rest of the week. Yuri groans as he rubs his head and blindly reaches for his device, turning it on and squinting as the bright lights burn into his pupils.

He’d been fatigued, that’s what Yakov’s text message explains at least; fatigued and dehydrated.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Viktor snickers, bouncing up to the blonde teenager excitedly. Yuri twists his neck so fast it could snap, screaming as he most definitely _sees_ Viktor in his room.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL—“

“Woah! Calm down!” Another voice calls, more soothing than Viktor. Yuri jolts to face his other side.

“HIROSHI!?”

“Well… it’s actually Yuuri.” Hiroshi— Yuuri? Yuuri begins nervously, a hand sheepishly scratching at the nape of his neck. “I suppose we both should explain some things to you…”

“I’m dying.” Yuri chokes, sitting upright and scrambling to back away from the two men. “Yakov said… You guys were skaters? You were supposed to arrive but… You were invisible?! And my neighbour… But you were already—” He breaks off with a strangled gasp. He thinks he may cry right then and there.

“No, no, no… You’ve got it all wrong.” Yuuri waves his hands hastily, trying to amend the poor teen. “We’ll explain, promise, but you really should rest first, you’re exhausted… and I don’t blame you.”

Yuri feels a pinch to his side, startling him as he focuses on his fingers trying to drag out sensory input from his body. He’s determined to prove that this was in fact another dream.

The pain that lingers tells him otherwise.

“No!” Yura finds his voice, vocalising his frustrations, “I want answers _now_.”

The supposed husbands share a look with him before Yuuri eventually sighs in defeat, nodding mutely as they both make to sit at the edge of his bed with caution. Their weights add a cool feeling to the bedding, and they almost apologetically smile at him before shifting to get comfortable. Yuri doesn’t move closer, he remains where he sits until Viktor speaks up.

“We were both born hundreds of years ago.’ He says, head downcast as he mumbles to the blankets, “I’ve been dead for centuries and for some reason, only you can see me.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true. So could I it turns out… but we both think we know why that is.” Yuuri cuts in, staring at his husband. “Viktor died and… as you can see, became a ghost to put shortly. Meanwhile I was deemed to never die and wander earth forever. And I think we both came to the conclusion that we were supposed to meet or do… something? Uh… at least that’s how it appeared to me, there had never really been any instructions truthfully.” He laughs a satirical laugh before clasping his hands neatly in his lap.

“We’d been trying for _years_ – _centuries_, to figure out how to make all this end…” Viktor explains. “Why can I, as a ghost interact with inanimate objects, with animals, with _you_,” He says pointedly, staring at Yuri, “but I can’t bloody move on into the afterlife or whatever?”

“But this is really all guesswork at best.” Yuuri admits, “There’s still a lot we haven’t discussed with each other due to the... startling meeting. Hell, I don’t think either of us knew the other were… uh, alive in the better sense of the word so you could probably imagine why I’d… been very unstable...”

“So… So wait, you’re saying you’re dead.” Yuri reiterates, a deep breath escaping his lips. The more he considers the possibility, the more he realises how much it makes sense with the enlightenment acting like a lightbulb going off in his head. Why the neighbours had started the rumours, why Viktor had acted odd around Hiroshi — Yuuri, at the bakery. Why Yuuri had been so startled… even the— “Tapestry.” He finally says, eyes widening in realisation.

“Tapestry? What tapestry?” Viktor cocks his head to the side, patiently waiting for an answer to his confusion.

“Yeah. The family tree.” Yuuri nods his head. “I um, had a tapestry of our family tree to keep record… you took a look at it didn’t you?”

“I took a picture of it.” Yuri nods minutely, “But it’s gone? And so is your contact in my phone… and now you’re also skaters?”

“That makes sense I suppose.” Yuuri frowns, finger pressed to his lips in contemplation, “After we’d seen each other, Viktor and I went invisible and I accidentally touched you. You passed out, I think from the overwhelming temperature… but I can touch you just fine now, see?”

And he did, skin meeting skin in a bizarre way. The touch was cold, like a faint impression on his skin that raised the hairs and goose-bumps of his flesh. Yuri’s eyes widen at the semi-present sensation that lingered. “You disappeared… and a lot of my physical possessions vanished too. I think my physical body actually too. I’m pretty much a ghost now? I’m taking a long shot, but if I’m right, now that Viktor and I have reunited…”

“Everything is resetting.” Viktor finishes with a nod, agreeing with the hypothesis. “So I think that the other Viktor and Yuuri in this world are a… sort of placeholder for now… the ones you mentioned, but they should disappear once everything corrects itself?”

“So that means then…”

“Yeah, this is incredibly confusing to wrap our heads around.” Viktor cuts in, “Why any deity would make Yuuri and I go through all this, only to erase our supernatural presence is beyond me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Yuri scoffs, arms folding. “I’m surprisingly over that part already. What I’m more so meaning is that… technically I’m like, the final product of your entire bloodline. It’s entire fate rests in my hands.”

“I never did really think about that.” Yuuri supposes, humming in thought.

“I didn’t even know!” Viktor interrupts him, hands waving excitedly, “And now that I do… technically, we are your parents from like… centuries ago!”

“Yeah, and I’m most definitely dead.” Yuri deadpans, rubbing his eyes exasperatedly. He can feel the prickle behind his eyelids from irritating them too much however, and can only groan in defeat.

“Nope! You are very alive and healthy!” Viktor continues while poking his cheek playfully, the cold touch mirroring that of his husband’s from earlier. Yuri suddenly realises that _all_ of Viktor’s touches have felt like this; cold and clammy, and can only wonder why he’d never picked up on it before. “And now you’re stuck with your ghost parents until the day you _actually_ die!”

“What?! Can’t you both move on or some shit!?” Yuri exclaims incredulously, staring at the more reasonable of the two. He’s silently praying to the deities who’d probably started this in the first place. His mercy was probably their entertainment.

“I don’t think so.” Yuuri smiles timidly, “This has… only been a theory, but I think we were cursed in the beginning due to a dispute during Viktor’s last… moment. It became a regret that carried us past the expiration date. And now… I suppose we have to make up for it with you.”

“Me? Why me?” Yuri grits his teeth. He no longer feels threatened by these two ghosts and now only holds an annoying grudge towards them. Curse his family and stupid ancestors. He’s very mad.

“Truthfully we have no clue why it was you who ended up bringing us together.” Viktor shrugs his shoulders, “Pure coincidence we met, but I suppose if there was a track record of the family history then Yuuri must have intentionally sought you out?” The nod of confirmation from his husband answers it at.

“Again, guesswork. I’ve stuck around generations of our family for years but it was either too soon after I had faked my death or they were too hostile towards me to explain.”

Yuri blinks stupidly before sighing, flopping backwards into the comfort of his bed. Maybe the neighbours were right, maybe he really _was_ going insane. “Whatever!” He suddenly shouts, a test to their rumours, “Come at me, give me all you got! If I’m stuck with two gay ghost dads then so be it!”

He abruptly sits up, eyes wide as he stares at both Viktor and Yuuri. “Holy Shit.” Yuri gapes, “I never thought I’d ever say that un-ironically in my life.”

“But you thought you’d say it _ironically_?” Yuuri asks, eyebrow raised.

“You never know.” The young skater shrugs, he’s tired and has run out of shits to give. “Life is crazy fucked like that.”

* * *

“Bug off. I’m like this because of _you_.” Yuri glares, poking him squarely in the chest, “It’s 6:30, get the time right before you decide to annoy me.”

Viktor doesn’t bug off and instead follows Yuri into his bedroom. “Rude.” He pouts, in a way that would be charming had Yuri looked. He flops onto the leopard print bedspread, a poor choice in his honest opinion, sighing in comfort at the cushioning of the mattress. “You secretly love me Yurio—“

“That’s not my name.” Yuri warns, head snapping to stare, “And if you call me that one more time, I swear I’ll keep you locked in the basement.”

There’s an airy laugh that escapes the man’s lips, sky blue eyes crinkling in delight. Yuri doesn’t see the humour in such dangerous threats, and chalks it up to the guy’s past life that makes him so strange. “Sure Yurio, you keep telling yourself that okay? Let me know when your apartment building gets a basement.”

That settles it; there is no god.

One day, Yuri is sure he’ll find a way to strangle the blue eyed, silver haired man, but for now, there are other things needing his undivided attention. He hopes praying again may appease someone, but if he’s been cursed to put up with Viktor then perhaps not.

“You’re going to be late to practise Yura.” Yuuri calls to him, cold hands pushing him towards the living room. Yuri only groans before allowing himself to wander towards the front door, slamming it shut behind him. He expectantly waits, watching as Viktor gleefully phases through the wall and tugs Yuuri with him, making a dramatic show of it before following the young skater into the elevator.

“You guys need to stop.” He says, lips pursing as he registers a neighbour’s presence beside him. Viktor snickers in the corner of his peripherals as Yuuri elbows him in the rib.

“Excuse me?” The old man asks, and only then does Yuri recognise him as Viktor’s old neighbour, watching him under the scrutiny of the apartment complex’s gossip circle.

“Fuck off.” Yuri sneers back, startling him as the elevator doors open. He shoves past a woman and her child as he hurries, both ghosts at his heels. One is busy scolding him and the other laughing, a true juxtaposition of the fun and stern parent stereotype. The woman momentarily freezes before regaining her bearings, continuing to enter the elevator unaware of the bickering Yuri can hear.

“Was that the crazy boy?” The mother hushes, turning around to catch a glimpse of blonde hair.

“Yep.” The older man shakes his head, sighing, “Talking to himself as usual.”

“He ought to seek help, I almost feel sorry for him.” She shakes her head, patting her baby’s back as she frowns. The doors slide shut and the machine rumbles beneath them.

“The other day he was at the empty apartment again, talking to an invisible dog and guy named Viktor.”

“Invisible dog? Invisible man? That’s just absurd!” She almost laughs, keeping herself in check as she covers her mouth with her hand.

“Well,” Says the man, shrugging, “Apparently ‘they’re’ moving in with him and he wasn’t entirely too happy about it.”

“The invisible people.” The woman reiterates.

“Yeah, another one turned up last week apparently— the invisible man’s _husband_.”

“Oh my.”

“Quite the family don’t you think?” The old man sighs with a shake of his head, “I admit I’m rather intrigued though, curious I might dare say. It’s been the talks for months you know, just crazy.”

“Well now, be careful there sir.” The mother tuts, eyes focused on the sleeping bundle in her arms, “We all know that those two things are never a recipe for good.”

“No I suppose not.” Agrees the man. The elevator doors open to reveal his floor and he moves to step out with hesitance, “Alas, what can you do? Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction surely brought it back.”

“I surely hope so.” The woman smiles, nodding her farewell from the sliding doors. The man grins as he nods back, a hand waving as he returns to the empty hallway.

He passes the infamous apartment that had become the source of all the complex’s gossip for months, and snorts with a shake of his head. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, but the idea of rumoured footsteps and voices and dog barks can’t help but make him wonder.

“How intriguing.” The man mutters, mind delving into the realm of possibilities. He can’t deny it, no matter how silly he thought such concepts to be; he’s infatuated. Curious. 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap!
> 
> For those who are a little confused:
> 
> \- Viktor and Yuuri were once married, a long time ago and had started a family (Chris and Yuuko, named after the respective people)  
\- Somewhere along the lines, Viktor falls ill and as a consequence, the added stress meant that Viktor and Yuuri fight, their marriage growing distant  
\- Viktor eventually passes away and Yuuri realises his mistake in never getting the change to ammend himself or their relationship  
\- As the years progress, Yuuri realises he can't die. It's an assumption he's tried to but it doesn't work, and so he therefore forces himself to distance from his family and change his identity, less they become suspiscious of his aging  
\- He assumes that something must have happened to Viktor after death, he doesn't know what, but at the same time, his husband does come back as a ghost  
\- Years later, Yuri, the eventual last living blood of their family is able to reunite them. There's no definitive reason behind this, there's speculation but nothing is clear
> 
> So yeah, a couple references to Cain and Abel, in which one dies, the other lives forever and they both didn't part ways very well!
> 
> Thank's for reading!


End file.
